


Empty chairs at empty tables

by airsalonpasandpettysquabbles



Series: "Tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day..." [1]
Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: A small collection of shorts regarding this exceptionally well-written book, Chapter nine's end shook me hard, Just finished this literary piece yesterday, but also sad, it was great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:08:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19096648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airsalonpasandpettysquabbles/pseuds/airsalonpasandpettysquabbles
Summary: Ralph has seen what disappointed officers can't.He knows that all the boys are more than physically leaving the island. They're also leaving behind their youthful innocence.





	Empty chairs at empty tables

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I quote William Golding's Lord of the Flies, and I obviously don't own the novel.

"Nobody killed, I hope? Any dead bodies?"

Ralph didn't have the strength to nod, "Only two. And they've gone."

However, Simon and Piggy were more than sad statistics. They were people. They were _boys_ , dealt a rotten hand in life. They were murdered. Murdered out of hate. Murdered out of spite. And yet, on the way back to land, they no longer looked like murderers. They resembled tortured souls who gave into the devil's temptation. They all played Beezlebub's game. 

"I should have thought that a pack of British boys would have been able to put up a better show than that," is what the officer had expressed on the island.

Ralph had half a mind to yell at him that they were doing the devil's bidding. It was inside them all. To scream that he tried. He tried to maintain order. Him, Piggy, and Simon. The latter, bless his soul, tried to warn them. He was the best of them all. 

He wished he could have sobbed into the man's shoulder about how they were boys. Whether six, or ten, or twelve, they were children. And it was hard staying calm and orderly and _sane_ when you are a child. When you're scared, alone, and left in the dark. When you're used to the comfort and security of adults. 

The unkempt boy would have conveyed that it was hard keeping the peace amongst unruly boys, when your two best friends were gone, murdered, and you were being hunted by your enemy /who was once your ally/. It was hard when you were running away from a torrid blaze, or hiding from the remains of society; now broken and demented. If you could even call it a society. 

He desperately needed to shout, to everyone who could hear him, that he knew they had to keep the fire going. That he knew they needed the conch to keep order. That they wouldn't listen. That two innocent boys, possibly more, were killed over their stupidity. He wanted to inform the officer that it wasn't all 'Fun and Games' like had stated before. The murderous behavior, the evil seeding into their hearts, that was hell. The crazed glint in their eyes while they chanted the disturbing song, 'Kill the beast! Cut its throat! Spill its blood! Do him in!', that was the darkest of abys'. An endless source of nightmares. Simon's lifeless body came to mind, distant and unnerving and swallowed by the sea. The moon was pulled from the sky and the sun overspread his corpse. Ralph couldn't unsee the image.

He took a step forward. His jaw unclenched and unhinged. His dry throat and chapped lips tried conceiving all the words he held in his heart. When nothing came up, his body started shaking and, somehow, he was hydrated enough to dampen his lashes. The warm substance sauntered down his ruddy cheeks and settled down on his dry lips. 

During the ride home, a term which no longer held much meaning, Ralph wore a solemn look on his face. They had left too many bodies on the island. Too many souls. And yet, here he was. Just like Simon said he was going to be—'You'll get back to where you came from.'

He was right. He had made it. But now, he had to live with the consequences of survival. And judging by the sober look on Jack's face, he wasn't sure if therapy would do any of them any good. 

**Author's Note:**

> This work, titled 'Empty chairs at empty tables', is named after one of the songs in 'Les Misérables'. As Marius sings about the loss of his friends, Ralph mourns his.


End file.
